


Watch It Burn

by Neffectual



Series: one step forward, two steps back [2]
Category: Professional Wrestling, Progress Wrestling
Genre: Dark, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 02:48:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10265942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neffectual/pseuds/Neffectual
Summary: To be the first is always a challenge, to be loved is always the desire, and be accepted is always the goal.





	

It’s easy to go out there and play the fool, pay it forward, threaten a little masculinity and shake the goods around. It’s easy to flaunt everything sexual and silly, the things they’re likely to understand and take at face value without ever wondering if there’s something more under the fluffy playboy bunny act. To come out with men on leashes and stroke his opponents like they’re property, like he owns them, like he owns everyone who’s ever looked at him with a proprietary air and half a mind to what’s hidden under those trunks. Sure, he can give them all a show, he can wave his arse for the cameras and proffer sex toys like sex is his business, because sex sells and sex sells and his name means creator, wrought iron filth burning hot on the anvil, beaten into shape – and that shape is a flat blade of sharp metal, ready to cut anyone who underestimates him.

“It’s not political.”  
He hears that a lot, and laughs under his breath, face schooled to keep that smile, that carefully attractive pout, nothing more than that – he can’t be seen to react, after all. Everything is political, every movement, every word, every second that he’s seen, and someday, someday they’ll all see that. They want him to stalk, to play the predatory gay who slides over the audience like a greasy film of sleaze, and he’ll do it, too, because he’s a predator, after all. Just the prey is far larger than they’ve ever planned, and he’s consuming them day by day, without them even noticing. They laugh, and he’s in their mouth, they roar, and he’s in their throats, they gasp, and he’s in their lungs, and they won’t even realise that they’ve accepted him until it’s too late, and he’s in every cell they have, and they cannot break free.

Easy is subjective, and while he’s the easiest thing to swallow they’ve ever held in their mouths, no bitter pill, sexuality is big enough to choke on, and so he spoon-feeds them piece by piece until they’re no longer sure they don’t want the next bite. The rainbow flags bloom like bruises, insidious, like bursts of colourful spores, and they leave their traces on everything, glitter and colour and light in the darkness of a crowd that might have mustered hate, but more likely disgust. Someone shouts something, and they’re told to leave, or be silent, and he can feel that power thrumming through him, better than a win, better than sex, better than anything he’s ever felt, because to know that he’s changing their minds and hearts is all he’s ever wanted.

He’s a flawed specimen, the example, the prototype, and he knows that he’ll be gone as soon as the others start appearing, that he’ll be tossed aside for a newer model sooner or later, but while he’s the only one, the first, organically created and not manufactured beyond what he’s done himself, he’ll take that stride into the spotlight. There are issues, there are always issues with the first model, but some people find it more charming for exactly that reason – but he’s not a fool. He knows he’s just paving the way, just giving them the schematic to build for, and those that come after him won’t have to stand in every footstep to climb the ladder to success. He’s sweated and sashayed and snogged his way through crowds who didn’t want him there, been the monster who won’t stay under the bed, climbed in with them and spooned up behind them, breathing in their ears. And it’s worked.

Now, they cheer, they cry, they roar, they laugh, and no one ever takes a moment to stop and wonder if he should be there, if he deserves it. He’s earned that legitimacy, he’s ripped their hearts out and worn them around his waist, wrapped them around his dick and stroked, and they’ve all come with him when he’s shuddered for them. It’s a performance, a slick, well-lubed machine that works to show everyone that this is what they can have, this is what they can be, if they just love him. If they just love him, they can tell themselves that they’re progressive, that they’re taking steps to make the business better, and he can laugh all the way to the bank, laugh everyone he knows into a job, laugh the rest of the queers into their hearts and souls until they can’t imagine wrestling without them. He is a sword, a flaming beacon in the darkness, red hot and spitting sparks, ready to burn through anything he touches, ready to torch the business and be raised up high. He’s ready to be the figurehead of something. When the tide turns, it will buoy him forward, surge him on to glory. He can have anything he wants – even acceptance. But first, everything has to burn for him.


End file.
